


After Time

by Moebius



Category: Lost in Translation (2003)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:46:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moebius/pseuds/Moebius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been seven years. What happens in one day between two people?</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anythingbutblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutblue/gifts).



> To my recipient, anythingbutblue: I think we were matched because of OITNB, but the fact is I could have done any of those great prompts you offered. But Lost in Translation was the one that intrigued me the most, I think because I'm much older and have experienced a lot more of life now than when I first saw it a decade ago. I took a little bit of a liberty, and it's a seven-years-later story instead of five. I hope you enjoy it, and that I managed to capture some of the tone and feeling of the movie. Happy Yuletide!

In an airport in Europe, there is a line. There are nearly one hundred people in the line. They’re waiting to reschedule flights, rebook hotels, reorganize their failed travel plans; they’re waiting to leave home or go home, all grounded by an act of nature taking place nearly two thousand miles away. Charlotte steps into the end of the line, half her concentration on her phone. She sends one last email and looks up, and sees a man she knows.

Charlotte recognizes him by the slope of his shoulders; the sharp angle between neck and arm, softened by the slight stoop forward. His neck. His fingers. She leaves her suitcase behind and moves through the line towards him, ignoring the annoyed exclamations from the people she passes. They’re in a language she doesn’t know. They don’t matter. She reaches the man, she says his name.

Bob knows it’s her before she even finishes. He turns to greet her as the second ‘b’ leaves her lips. “Hello.”

“Hello.” She reaches up and touches his hair at the temple. Its intimate enough that the couple behind her in line exchange looks. “You’ve gone grey.”

“I’m a silver fox now, it’s part of the whole image.”

“I know. I saw the commercials.”

“I didn’t know people your age still watch television.”

“Only in Budapest when we can’t sleep.”

“How do I sound in Hungarian?”

“Like a million bucks.”

“Euros.”

“Forints.”

“You want to get out of here? I bet the line to get a cab is only half as long as this one.”

They leave one line for another. Charlotte gets her suitcase from where she’d left it. They walk to the curb. Bob was wrong; the line here is pretty much the same as the one inside. They stand silently for a lot of it, hands dangling loosely at their sides, almost touching. “I didn’t know Europe even had volcanos.”

“Everywhere has volcanos.”

“Not New York.”

She laughs. “No, I guess not. They have theaters there, though.”

“I know. I’ve been in some.”

“Good.”

They look at each other out of the corners of their eyes. Sometimes they turn and smile. He’s older. She’s older. They can’t help but notice. They turn and smile anyway. Their fingers brush once, accidentally, as they move forward. Eventually, they get a cab. The driver doesn’t speak English, but between the two of them they’ve picked up enough Hungarian to get to a restaurant. Their suitcases are in the trunk; there’s nothing between them in the back of the cab but space and time.

“What brings you to Hungary?” He asks.

“I don’t know.”

Bob raises an eyebrow. “This is a weird place to come for no reason.”

“I didn’t say I don’t have a reason, I said I don’t know. I’m passing through.” 

“Okay.”

There are seven years of silence pressing in on them. She reaches for his hand. “I’m sorry. It’s… like we just left Tokyo, but so much has happened.”

“I know. That’s life for you. It’s all sushi and shiatsu until someone loses an eye.”

She laughs. They hold each other’s hand for the rest of the cab ride.

\--

Their suitcases are in the corner by the door of the restaurant. The food is spicy. Charlotte wrinkles her nose. “I don’t like paprika.”

“Boy, you’ve come to the wrong restaurant in the wrong country with that attitude.”

She pushes a piece of veal to the side of her plate, then back to the center. Her smile is small, but genuine. “Are you still married?” She knows the answer. She googles him occasionally, when she admits that she’s lonely. 

“No.”

“Oh.”

“My kids… they’re not kids anymore, so she didn’t need to stay.” He pulls at the edge of his crepe. “I didn’t need her to stay. It’s fine. She kept the house, I kept my name.” 

“Like Tina Turner.”

“Exactly.”

“What about you? Did you figure it all out?” He knows the answer. A copy of her book sits on his bookshelf at home, in easy reach. It’s about Japan and he finds himself in the spaces between the words. He reads it when he’s lonely.

But she doesn’t tell him about the book. “We have kids. John and I. Daughters.”

“Where are they?”

“With their father.”

“Where’s that?”

“Still LA, most of the time.”

Charlotte hopes he doesn’t ask her their names or how old they are. She wants to talk in broad strokes about life, not about the specific people who aren’t with them right now. She should be at home with her daughters, but she’s been wandering the world looking for something. She calls it research and nobody questions her. She misses her daughters. When they were born, she was terrified, but Bob had been right. They're the best people she knows. 

The waitress brings them coffee. It’s strong, served in a small cup. He downs it quickly, then makes a face. She watches him, amused, before taking a tiny sip. The coffee is bitter, but she appreciates it. “I’ll be thirty soon.”

“I don’t remember. What’s that like?”

Before she can answer him her phone rings. Bob looks impressed. He mouths, “international service” and rubs his fingers together. The universal sign of cash. As if he doesn’t have the exact same feature on his phone, even though no one calls. She waves him away and takes the call.

“Hi. I know. I think a couple of days? No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll get a hotel room.” Charlotte’s eyes meet Bob’s. “Okay. Tell the girls I’ll be home soon. I miss them.” There’s a pause. “And you. Okay. Okay, I love you.”

She hangs up the phone. Bob takes her coffee and finishes it. 

-

At the front desk of the hotel, the clerk asks them how many rooms they would like. They share a laugh before answering.

Charlotte registers them as Evelyn Waugh and George Sand. Bob doesn’t get the joke, but doesn’t ask. Instead, he asks her which one he is. 

“I don’t think it matters.”

They ride the elevator up in silence, holding hands. Fingers entwined.


End file.
